There’s this feeling I get when I look back on a moment. It is one that is of floppy quality, like that of a puppy with paws too big for it’s torso. Or of a baby with a body that hasn't grown into it’s head yet. It’s a feeling that acknowledges the reality of your situation prior to this experience. Yet, when it was occurring you had no indication of feeling too big for your skin. It was a normal day, just like it is now.

I’m trying to put my finger on a significant example. One thing I think would resonate with this feeling is high school mistakes and naivety. High school pranks, drinking, sex, and drugs; not every high schooler of course, but certainly a lot. Now, being in my mid-twenties, it’s easy to look back on those moments and shake my head, wondering why my big feet didn’t trip themselves in the decision I made. Or why it took so long for them to. Wondering what signals were being transmitted, telling your brain this was an intelligent decision.

I had these red plaid slippers that I brought with me to Nepal. I bought them at a cheap dollar store in Michigan and they were by far the warmest, comfiest slippers I’ve purchased. Since moving to Maine I have no recollection of where I placed them, and the wood floors of my cabin, without my slippered feet, have made me somewhat nostalgic for the piercingly cold floors in Nepal. This is a feeling that makes me feel small, warm, and big in the same moment. It’s a little spark of light in your heart that travels to your toes, letting you know that you are adored. Comfy things, cold, and unusual places, explain this feeling so well for me. It’s the feeling of being big in the clothes you’re in, yet still feeling small and warm in the circumstance. It’s a relatively good feeling. A comforting and discomforting one all at once.

I have since thought about purchasing a new pair of slippers but my memories are held in the ones I lost.